


A Little Adventure

by r_lee



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:16:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_lee/pseuds/r_lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day before he leaves Rivendell, Frodo spends some time with his uncle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Adventure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madam_ypsilon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madam_ypsilon/gifts).



Bilbo closed the book and, as habit would dictate, reached into his waist-coat for his pipe. He tamped it with tobacco, drew out a match, and for his nephew's sake made a great show of taking in a deep amount of smoke. In truth he was elderly and time had taken its toll, but pride had always been both a mainstay and fault of his. Age had done nothing to change that.

"Look at the ink staining my fingers," he laughed. "One would think I was trying to become an elf."

Frodo laughed along with his uncle. "And that is every bit as likely as me becoming an Orc." 

"I might say that's even more likely." Bilbo Baggins, late of the Shire, looked out the window with great longing. The mist clung to the trees, its fingers greedy, the sun hazy around watery droplets. In the distance, the sound of the waterfalls crashing into pools was the most pleasant sort of background hum. It was green here, so green, and though he had first been a stranger to Rivendell, he now considered it home.

For a time, at least. 

"My days grow short," he confessed, but not out of self-pity. "I state it merely as a practical measure, Frodo. Plans must be made and arrangements put into place."

Frodo grinned, caught in a memory of one of his uncle's other plans. Something about a birthday party and a disappearance. Something that started him on an unexpected journey of his own. "Will you be going out with a bang this time as well?"

With a small tight smile, Bilbo shook his head. "No fireworks. No miraculous disappearing acts. Just a fare-thee-well. I'm old and I'm tired, and there's little more to say." His fingers, gnarled and restless, ran along the spine of the book on his desk before he turned to his nephew with a critical glance. "They say we Hobbits are a steadfast and sedentary race. That we don't much care for adventure or for things out of the ordinary."

"That we're indulgent. That we eat too much and drink too much and smoke too much," Frodo grinned. "There are exceptions to every rule."

"I never thought I might be one of those exceptions." Bilbo breathed in deeply, drawing on his pipe. A line of smoke curled up and into the air. It looked nothing like a dragon.

Frodo watched the smoke dissipate. "Nor did I. I suppose it runs in the family." There was comfort in the casual conversation, although both men knew it couldn't last. Soon, he would set out to destroy the ring.

"Come," Bilbo offered, tucking the book beneath one arm. "Walk with me. My turn can wait. _You_ are about to set out on a dangerous journey, my friend, and time is precious. Still, you can spare some for me."

"Always." Frodo followed his uncle into the forest, his fingers dragging across the leaves, the scent of evergreen in his nostrils. The two hobbits moved along the path until they arrived at a stream, clear water tumbling over the rocks into a riot of whirl and swirl, pine needles and small branches and leaves, all carried away by the rush of the water.

Frodo opened his mouth to speak, but Bilbo raised a hand. "Listen," he croaked. "Do you hear it?"

"Hear what?" With a frown, Frodo concentrated on the noises of the forest, the gurgle of the water, the chirping of birds, the faint rustlings in the distance. 

For a long while Bilbo sat in silence, the tome clutched to his chest. At last he smiled, nodded, and turned to his nephew. "The song," he said simply. "Listen to the way the stream sings it."

Try as he might, Frodo only heard the spill of the water onto the rocks. He shook his head.

"I'll help you." Opening the book, Bilbo turned to the last page. "I wrote this, sitting by this very stream not so very long ago." He read quietly.

Wonder not beside the stream,  
The place where all the elf-folk dream  
Rest away yon weary eye  
Listen well, then, with a sigh  
Long ago a song was writ  
By the tree where now you sit.  
When the tune at last you hear,  
Take a note with weathered ear.

In days of yore a battle great  
Waged beyond the forest gate.  
Evil came to Eriador,  
Deep unrest, besieged by war.  
Bolts of oak, of ash, of wood,  
Saved the valley well and good.  
The forest folk fought valiantly,  
Though some did fall beneath this tree.

A place of peace and learning, this  
Where weary folk could make a wish  
And rest among the bounty ripe,  
Dine and sing, enjoy a pipe.  
Listen to the music fair,  
Watch the sunlight in the air.  
When at last my time is through,  
I will leave with greatest rue.

With eyes closed, Frodo listened to his uncle's poem, or perhaps it was meant as a song. When Bilbo had finished reading and snapped the book shut, Frodo kept his eyes closed and told himself to listen harder. He hadn't spent nearly as much time among the Elvish folk as his uncle, so perhaps time was what he needed. 

Then again, perhaps time wasn't the missing element. Perhaps it was simply _awareness._ He leaned back against a tree, its bark rough yet solid. The day was temperate and comfortable, and with his eyes closed Frodo could almost picture himself back home in the Shire, stealing mushrooms along with Merry and Pippin from Farmer Maggot. The smell of freshly-baked cakes filled his nostrils; the sound of Hobbit children singing by the Brandywine River filled his ears. The children's voices mingled with the inherent melody of the water. It lulled and seduced him. This half-dream was different from the one he'd fallen into with the chip of Nazgûl blade in his shoulder. That--when he could recall it--had been like drowning in ice. This was warm and vibrant and colorful, evocative of the Shire and days past. In his near trance the water's voice became clearer and clearer, overpowering that of the hobbit children. The song it sang reminded Frodo more of the ballads of the Elven folk than anything else. It sang to him of the Shire, of the River Baranduin, of the greenery of the Farthings, of days past. In his mind's eye Frodo saw the Battle of Greenfields, saw the goblin king Golfimbul's head knocked off by Bullroarer Took, saw the enemies retreat. 

A smile played over his face. Frodo saw the way one river flowed to another and as if he were flying over the land on the back of an eagle, saw the way one region melted into another. All the time, the stream sang to him of deeds great and small, of Hobbits and Elves, of Orcs and goblins and dragons, of good and of evil. Only the sound of his uncle calling his name drew him out of his reverie.

"You're all right?" Bilbo studied Frodo's face. "You haven't fallen back into--"

"No, no." Frodo smiled. "I've been well and truly healed." That was only a small lie, told as a comfort to Bilbo. After all, the whole adventure had been something of his uncle's doing. 

Anxiety sounded in Bilbo's voice. "You were gone someplace else. For a moment I thought I'd lost you."

"I'm fine, I promise. I heard it, though. I heard the song." Remnants of it lingered still in the not-yet-awake recesses of his mind, but they were as fleeting as any dream. "I heard the river's tale." With great and intimate detail, he related what he'd seen and heard to his uncle.

Bilbo smiled a genuine and generous smile before standing and extending a hand to Frodo. "If you stayed among the Elves as long as I had, you might start writing things down too."

Frodo laughed and joined his uncle on the walk back from the forest. "I think I'm not one to relate what dreams are made of. Luckily for us both, you do it so well."

Bilbo clapped Frodo on the back. "Come visit me in my room. I have a few items that you might find useful on the journey ahead. I’ve got you into a mess, I’m afraid."

"What's life," Frodo shrugged, "without a little adventure?"

Both hobbits grinned.


End file.
